


fate up against your will

by notthequiettype



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, could-should-did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 11:06:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13809894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthequiettype/pseuds/notthequiettype
Summary: How it could have, should have, and did happen.





	fate up against your will

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Echo & the Bunnymen's "The Killing Moon". Format inspired by [this post](http://gaily-daily.tumblr.com/post/93891036744/cries-into-the-night-i-need-a-new-fic-meme-where).

_Could_

Frank and Mikey living together in the hot, cramped second floor of a house, rickety stairs up around the back that Ray almost died getting their curb-find couch up, a poker table pilfered from the Ways' basement in the kitchen, and a mystery light switch in the bathroom that Frank labels 'cock' and 'dick' with a Sharpie. 

There's a party and a lot of beer and Gerard passed out on the couch, Frank and Mikey helping each other down the hall, stumbling and giggling, to their rooms. It's Frank opening Mikey's door and bumping them both into the frame, Mikey's hands landing on Frank's ribs, his head ducked down, and Frank looking up, their eyes locking for a second, Mikey's face soft and smiling, his mouth open a little. Both of them leaning in, meeting a little roughly in the middle, kissing in Mikey's doorway, a tiny bit too drunk to be great, but not too drunk to be good.

Frank's hands moving to grip Mikey's bony hips, thumbs rubbing at his skin just under his t-shirt, and Mikey's long fingers curling up around Frank's jaw, tipping his head so he can kiss Frank deeper.

\---

_Should_

Mikey, ready to tour and enthusiastic about it for once, clear-eyed and cautiously happy. The Paramour behind him, therapy and sobriety and a delicate balance of prescriptions. A late travel night in the dim light of the bus lounge, Mikey and Frank up, watching a zombie movie, snores from the bunks.

Frank looking at Mikey's profile and smiling and Mikey catching him at it, smiling back, sharp teeth in his bottom lip. Frank giving in to the impulse to touch him, to wrap his hands around the back of Mikey's neck, to say, "I've wanted to do this for so fucking long, dude." Frank pressing their mouths together and Mikey opening up to him, easy and natural and foreign and familiar. Mikey's hands pressing to Frank's belly, his chest, long fingers curling into the neck of his shirt, touching his collarbone.

\---

_Did_

Mikey is fucked up at the Paramour, almost from the jump. Gerard is manic and wild-eyed. Frank is cold all the time, suffocating in the echoing silence of the house. Bob and Ray are fine, mostly, and the three of them spend a lot of their time trying to manage the Ways. The five of them writing and writing and writing, arguing more than they have before, Ray tugging at his hair all the time, Gerard dragging his palms down his face, nails leaving pink lines down his jaw and throat.

Frank doesn't think making an album is supposed to feel like this, doesn't think a fucking house should feel like this, isn't sure that they're going to end up with an album at the end of it. Sometimes, he's not sure they're going to survive it at all.

Frank hides out in the kitchen, disappearing into his sweatshirt and eating baby carrots over the sink, staring out at the pool. The kitchen feels different than the rest of the house, safer, brighter, warmer. He gives up finally, late, and heads to bed, fingertips touching each closed door as he passes, his own open enough that a dim orange streak of light breaks the gray of the hall. He finds Mikey curled up in his bed, on top of the mess of blankets, twitchy and pale.

Frank climbs in next to him, arm draping over Mikey's middle, fingers tracing his ribs. Mikey's eyes open and Frank watches his pupils dilate, wide and dark in the dim room. "You okay?"

Mikey shakes his head no, stretching his legs out so he can tuck into Frank's arms, press up against him. Frank palms Mikey's neck, fingers pushing into his hair, rubbing steadily, and presses Mikey's forehead against his chest. "Have you talked to Gee?"

Mikey shakes his head again, his breath speeding up a little.

Frank rubs his thumb under Mikey's ear, cradling his head. "You need to leave the house, yeah?"

Mikey nods, so sudden he almost knocks into Frank's chin, and Frank can feel the panic of it, how worried Mikey must be.

"Hey, hey." He rubs his hand down Mikey's back. "It's fine. It'll be totally fine, okay? Don't freak out."

"The album," Mikey says and his voice is barely a creak of sound.

"Will be fucking fine." He rubs his face against Mikey's temple. "You know Ray and Gee are the show right now. We're just the tools."

Mikey laughs and it feels like it's going to crack Frank into a thousand pieces. "Set dressing," he says into Frank's neck.

"Fucking trophy wives, man." He squeezes Mikey's hip. "Just want you to be okay."

"Gee's gonna be so mad at me."

Frank shifts so he can grab Mikey's face with both hands and make him look Frank in the face. "No. He's not."

"Okay." Mikey relaxes against him a little. "Thank you."

Frank smiles at him, rubs his thumb across Mikey's cheekbone. "We'll get you out of here, okay? I'll make some calls."

Mikey nods and then pushes against Frank's hold on his jaw, bumps his mouth against Frank's. Frank's surprised and goes still. Mikey looks at him, an eyebrow raised and half a smirk across his mouth. Frank hasn't seen him this sober or relaxed in months. 

"Dude, really," Frank says because maybe for a while they'd been stumbling toward this in fits and starts, but Frank had relinquished it to a box labeled 'Someday/Maybe Never' a long time ago. "Now?"

Mikey laughs, low and soft, his breath ghosting Frank's damp mouth. "Come on, Frankie." Mikey's hand trails down the center of Frank's chest, his fingers hooking into the waist of Frank's sweats. Frank's breath catches, heat pooling low. "Kiss me goodbye."

"No," Frank says and hates the way Mikey's face falls, but smiles anyway. "Gonna have to settle for 'see you later'."

Mikey groans and calls him a dork, but Frank's already pressing their mouths together, soft and hot and careful.


End file.
